


The Call

by Calvi_sama, Rapscallion



Series: Answered [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calvi_sama/pseuds/Calvi_sama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapscallion/pseuds/Rapscallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the prodding of his comrades, Vincent Valentine bought a cell phone, but quickly found out it was far more trouble than it was worth until an ill-timed call brought his life and Cid's together in a way neither one expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Man, we haven't done this in so long I'm surprised I was able to find this screen! For starters, standard disclaimers apply here: Cid, Vincent and the world of FFVII belong to SquareEnix as per usual. The plot, well, that's something I'm afraid we're going to have to claim and make no profit from this piece. Secondly, in a move somewhat unusual to my coauthor and I, we switched the characters we normally write. Can you figure out who wrote whom? Lastly, the title is far from permanent, for this or the 'series' this piece is part of, so if you check back and something has changed... you have been warned.

He should never have gotten a phone. He hadn't anticipated just how often his old teammates would require his aid...or think they did, in the case of some.

He'd had the damned thing for less than seven months, and already Cloud had called him three times about helping with deliveries. Barret had called four times, each time leaving a yelled and slightly garbled message that had Vincent flinching away from his phone before even determining what he was being asked to do. Tifa had asked him on five different occasions to help her track down Cloud, and once to track down Marlene and Denzel when they'd run away. 

Reeve called frequently, and his requests were the worst, because he never asked anything directly. It was annoying and often infuriating, and sometimes humiliating when he guessed wrong and disrupted meetings or emergency planning exercises instead of aiding with anything.

Yuffie was slightly worse than Reeve in frequency and far worse in content. Everything from lost items to kidnapped children to dragons rampaging around Wutai apparently warranted a call to Vincent, and after a few months he finally learned to judge just how urgent and earnest her pleas for his help were. 

But the worst of them, the absolute worst, was Highwind. He seemed to have decided that Vincent's phone was his personal life line. In almost seven months, Vincent had heard about everything from Cid's mechanic undertakings to his displeasure with small children running around the old rocket site, Cid's frustration over Shera's mysterious new boyfriend (Vincent could have shed some light on his identity, but he knew the importance of privacy) to Cid's own lack of love life, all of these one-sided conversations largely left at the mercy of Vincent's voicemail. 

He figured that if anyone ever asked, he could claim that he usually deleted voicemails by accident before hearing them. They'd probably believe it. The truth was that he saved them all, no matter how inane the subject matter. Sometimes it was nice, when he was alone in remote places, to be able to hear the voices of people who considered him a friend.

\------

Halfway across the planet, Cid was hard at work installing a new inlet manifold on one of the _Shera_ 's engines. Even though she flew, she was still pretty rickety in places and the old manifold was shot through with rust. He was honestly surprised that she'd held together when they'd flown her during the geostigma debacle, but Cid knew that he was running on borrowed time now and repairs had to be made or risk a nasty crash. He had just been too excited to wait through the series of test flights he should have taken before the call came that his airship was needed.

He'd had to lock poor Shera out of his workshop because, as usual, her need for safety precautions had driven him nearly up the wall.

Things had been quiet since the geostigma. Shera was healing well and resting, at his very emphatic insistence, and the others were getting on with their lives. Cid was trying, but with the lack of things to do and his need to go into space finally sated, he practically lived in his workshop and found himself beginning to miss the company of Cloud and the others, particularly Vincent. That loneliness had eased somewhat when the ex-Turk had finally purchased a phone, and Cid had called him frequently. Maybe a little _too_ frequently for Vincent's preference, Cid would admit to that, but he had taken it upon himself to “rehabilitate” Vincent to the world.

He found great amusement in aggravating the gunman, but as with all new things, the newness wore off and Cid found himself right back to where he had been. Missing Vincent. He missed Vincent's face, he finally decided, as much as the ex-Turk's dry personality. There was something appealing about the way the gunman looked and Cid loved the challenge of trying to get the man to show any emotion other than irritated stone.

As time went on, Cid began to grow a little uneasy with the way he was beginning to feel towards Vincent in the man's absence, and he tried to wean himself off of the phone calls. Today was another attempt at that. Cid was rather proud of himself for his progress. He only called Vincent five times a day now instead of his usual eight. Working on the _Shera_ proved to be instrumental in fighting his withdrawal, particularly since Shera was supposed to be resting. With lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and sweat glistening on his face and bare, muscular arms, Cid lit his cetyline torch with a flint striker. The torch lit with a pop, sending a rush of heat over his skin, and Cid held it away from his body as he turned the gas down until the bright orange flame was a tight, controlled blue cone.

Tossing the flint striker back on his workbench, Cid turned towards the sheet metal patch and began to seal the metal in place. Soon he was lost in his job amidst a shower of sparks, blue eyes hidden behind dark welding goggles and his mind far, far away from thoughts of Vincent. But, like all good things, the job came to an end and, puffing a satisfying drag from his cigarette, Cid turned off the gas and he was once again left alone with his thoughts and his empty workshop. Picking up a dirty old towel, he pinched what was left of his cigarette between his first two fingers and wiped the sweat off of his whiskered face. 

Feeling a need to talk to someone, he glanced up at the clock on the wall. It had been three hours since his last call to Vincent. Cid dropped his cigarette onto the concrete and ground it out with the heel of his combat boot. He draped his shirt over his shoulder, fished his cell phone out of his pocket and walked outside to get some fresh air and call Vincent. He hit Vincent's speed dial number and held the phone to his ear as he lit another cigarette and waited for his friend to pick up. 

\----

The ringing of his phone distracted Vincent despite his concentration, and the slight distraction was enough for him to lower his guard. One of the spear-wielding fish charged past him too close, catching his thigh and gouging deeply, shredding his pants and tearing out a sizable hunk of flesh when the creature yanked its spear back the other way. 

Vincent shot that quickly, and the the next closest, noting the eerie way they continued flopping around before being absorbed back into the lifestream. There were others, but the deep, loud sound of the shots seemed to have them cowed. How many of them had come out at him from the shore, Vincent had no idea. He'd killed many and taken little damage until now, and it was lucky that he had reduced their numbers so much.

He would heal, and quickly, but not quickly enough to dispatch them all before they attacked some campsite or small town. Since the remainder of the fishy squadron was still at bay, Vincent let himself go down, taking the weight off that leg entirely, and pulled his still-ringing phone from his pocket.

The screen said that it was Cid, and that was no surprise at this hour. Practically snarling, Vincent flipped the phone open and answered it. "Highwind," he panted, "I sincerely hope this one is important. You could not have chosen a less fortuitous time if you had tried."

The first thing Cid heard when the ringing stopped was the heavy breathing and he grinned. Maybe Vincent's reintroduction into the world was going better than expected, but he had enough sense to hold that comment to himself lest he irritate his friend into hanging up. He couldn't however, let it go ignored either. “Hey Vince, you busy?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette and grinning around the exhale. 

Vincent wanted to hit his head against the boulder that was helping to support him. "No, Cid, not at all. What can I do for you?" he asked irritably, hating the tinny sound to Cid's voice that meant he was far away. No, just hating the grating sound of someone speaking electronically in his ear. "Damn it." 

They had gotten curious again or sensed his weakness, and were moving closer. Without a thought to his phone, he dropped the thing on the ground and fired another shot, taking out two of the creatures at once. That held them back again, but rather than bother with his phone, Vincent dug for the heal materia he had instead. Using magic to heal a wound like this one was asking for infection in anyone else's body, but Vincent could fight off infection better than he could run on a bad leg.

The sting of regenerating flesh made him hiss, but when it was done, the worst of it felt like nothing more than a particularly nasty bruise. Phone still behind him on the ground, Vincent sprinted toward the rest of the crowd of landfish. They just stood there looking dumbstruck until he was right upon them, and Vincent had the distinct feeling that he had killed their leader, if they had one. It was easy enough from then to slash and bash his way through them, and when the very last stopped its twitching, Vincent returned to where he'd left his phone. "Now. What is it that's so important?"

Cid's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white and the plastic case groaned under the pressure. Those were sounds of fighting, and the blast of gunfire had him jerking the phone away from his head sharply, but it was right back to his ear before the report fully died away. He scowled darkly, fuming at his inability to help as he was forced to listen impotently to the struggle on the other end. When Vincent came back on line, Cid had mangled the end of his cigarette between his strong, white teeth. He threw the half-finished stick onto the ground and stood up from where he'd parked it on an overturned barrel. “Th' hell you're not busy!” he shouted. “I heard th' shots, Vince, what th' hell happened? Where are ya?”

"Mideel, taking care of a pest problem. It's done now, and would have been done much more quickly if you hadn't distracted me." Inwardly, Vincent groaned. The pilot would probably take that as a compliment somehow, something about being important enough that Vincent let himself be distracted.

Cid was yelling into the phone just the way Barret usually did, and so many loud sounds in rapid succession had Vincent right back to eying the boulder. "And I can hear you just fine without the megaphone," he added, gritting his teeth. "What do you want?"

“Where in Mideel?” Cid asked, heaving himself off of the barrel and making his way back into this shop. He rummaged around in a pile of bolts until he found the battered key to the _Highwind_ 's engines. Tossing it in the air, he caught it in his fist and headed back out of the large shop. “Are ya all right?” He asked, sliding the large door shut with a grunt and a bang. He stalked to the back door of the house, opened it and shouted, “Shera? I'm headin' out for a bit. Call if'n ya need anythin'!” He at least had the presence of mind to angle the mouth piece of the phone away from from his mouth. 

"Just south of where they're rebuilding the capital, but I told you, it's already taken care of. How is it that I manage to forget about your inability to listen to what's said to you? What are you yelling about now?" Vincent asked, jerking the phone away from his ear as the racket started up again, though it was a bit more distant this time. "Are you coming here?" he demanded. "Don't come here."

That was probably the stupidest mistake Vincent would make all day. Telling Cid not to do something was usually the surest way to get him to do exactly that.

Vincent's complete inability to answer the question was all Cid needed. Cid knew that Vincent would never admit to being injured, just like he would never admit to needing help. He knew that Vincent's attempts to distance himself from everyone was only his way of reaching out. Maybe the gunman thought he was trying to protect his friends, but Cid knew better. “Just you sit tight honey,” he grunted distractedly, “don't do nothin' stupid like I know y' can. I'll be there in a couple o' hours.” Breaking into a jog, Cid flipped his phone shut and made quick work of crossing the landing pad where the massive hulk of the _Highwind_ stood at rest. He grinned when his eyes fixed upon Lady Luck and he leapt up and over the railing with one hand. Cid punched the button that opened the outer hatch, the metal door sliding open with a hiss, and was already halfway down the steps to the cockpit before it slid back into place. It was a culmination of things that motivated Cid to move: the lack of activity, Shera's illness and recovery, and the way everyone seemed to forget about him only served to get his ass in gear when he thought about Vincent in a fight somewhere, alone and possibly injured. He was jumpier than a chocobo on a zeio nut buzz.

Cid's boots echoed metallically as he thudded up the stairs to the cockpit and navigation room. Once in the smaller room, he flipped switches and adjusted knobs that would initiate the ignition protocol needed for take off as he passed each of the flight stations. Cid tossed his cell phone and T-shirt onto the small shelf by the _Highwind_ 's massive steering wheel and jammed the ignition key into its port. He turned it, grin widening, as the ships massive engines began to thunder to life, shaking the entire airship as they did. As the _Highwind_ entered into its pre-flight ignition sequence, Cid stuck another cigarette into his mouth and lit it from a match he dragged across one of the rough metal buttons of his cargo pants. He took a drag, the cherry on the end of the cigarette briefly illuminating this face in a subtle crimson glow. “I'm comin' Vince,” he whispered before flipping the switches to disengage the _Highwind_ 's mooring lines. 

\----

Vincent was not, despite Cid's instructions, going to wait around in the same place for hours for some fool pilot to come to his unnecessary rescue. At least, he didn't really plan to, but his leg gave out several yards from where he'd started, and that shouldn't have happened at all. It was sore, but Vincent had always been about to push through so much worse.

It looked like it was bleeding again, too, but that couldn't be right. He felt a little dizzy, a little overwhelmed by confusion. Maybe it was a good thing that Cid was coming, after all.

\----

Fast-approaching Vincent's position, Cid was pushing the _Highwind_ 's engines as much he dared and silently cursing her for a bucket of bolts that she couldn't give him more. The longer he was in the air, the more his mind catastrophized Vincent's condition until he was nearly pulling his hair out. If he had taken even a minute to step back and examine his behavior, he would have been appalled, but Cid didn't work like that. He felt what he felt, said what he meant, and did what he perceived needed to be done, and that was to go to Vincent, his comrade, his friend.

Finally, the isle of Mideel came into view and Cid's muttered string of frustrated curses came to a graceless end. “'Bout goddamned time!” he muttered, exhaling a puff of blue-gray smoke and turning knobs as the airship approached the beach. He knew from previous experience that he couldn't land her over the trees, so the strip of land to the southeast was his closest option considering Vincent's position.

With a massive shudder and alarming groan, the _Highwind_ 's great engines began the grueling process of reversing their movement to slow then stop the hulk that they supported. Flipping the lever for autopilot, Cid revisited the different navigation consoles, checking headings, system readouts and initiatiing the landing protocols. For a moment, his attention was diverted from Vincent and his perceived peril as Cid's full concentration was required so that the landing would be smooth and not a firey conflagration. When he was satisfied with the ship's progress, he returned to the helm, deactivated the autopilot, and gripped the steering wheel so that he could guide his baby down.

Once landed, Cid shot the mooring lines into the ground and waited until they pulled taught before making his way to the small armory by the captain's cabin. Wrenching it open, Cid was surprised to find Venus Gospel still in its place, a holdover from when he and Cloud and the others had helped to stop Meteor. 

“Well I'll be dammed,” he breathed. “Has it really been that long?” Cid lifted the weapon down from the wall and hefted its familiar weight. “Ugly as hell, but I can't deny 'er power,” he muttered as he tested the blade's edge. Cid checked the materia slots, hoping against hope that he had left some equipped materia in place. Since Meteor and geostigma, materia had gotten increasingly more difficult to find because of the ban on mako refining, but he was once again pleasantly surprised to find all of his mastered materia still in place. 

“Never been s' glad to be fergetful,” he said with a grin as he saw all the support materia, evidence again that he had fought primarily with Vincent as they raced around the planet. “C'mon 'ol girl, got some work t' do, yet.” Cid gripped the shaft and headed back to the com's steering wheel to grab his shirt and cell phone before heading to the exit and out, all but forgetting to use the rope ladder that dangled from the small undercarriage. Vincent said to the south of the new capital, so south it was. 

\----

Something was definitely wrong. There was pain in his leg still, and it was almost getting worse. His body didn't seem to know how to react to the injury, because it wasn't healing as it normally would have. Had there been some strange poison on the fish's spear? Vincent hadn't sensed any initially, but if it was something new, as these creatures seemed to be, then he might not have recognized it.

Certainly something had made its way into his body, something enough to have his whole body aching and shuddering after another several minutes. It felt like nothing so much as a mako overdose, but mako never concentrated around this part of Mideel anymore. Eyes shut and hand still on his phone even though Cid had finally hung up, Vincent stayed under cover of the surrounding thicket and tried to keep the twitching of his limbs to a minimum. It would pass, surely, as everything passed.

Something else passed first, some beast sensing weakness and sickness. Vincent heard it but couldn't see it clearly when he opened his eyes. Raising his arm took a nearly unbearable amount of effort, and when he fired at the thing, he was almost certain that his shot went much too far to the right. It made a sound anyway, some familiar snarl, and he fired again as it closed in. This time there was a definite sound of pain, and Vincent dropped his arm, hoping that no more would come and that he had killed this one rather than injured it.

\----

Cid knew he was going the wrong way when he heard the sound of gunfire far off to his left. 

“Vincent,” he gasped, and altered his course to take him in the right direction. Cid broke into a reckless run when he heard the second gunshot and an answering sound of pain. When he broke through the bushes, he saw a flash of feathers and movement of a large pair of wings and immediately recognized the creature to be a somewhat wayward hippogriff. 

Crouching down, Cid launched himself into a powerful jump, raising the Gospel as he did so and came down square on top of the creature just as it gathered itself to plunge beak-first into a tangled snarl of underbrush. The thing let out a terrible shriek before it collapsed and dissolved back into the lifestream. Cid allowed himself a moment to enjoy the rush of the fight once more. “Ha!” he declared, propping the Gospel across his shoulders and leering at the place the monster had been. “That'll show ya!”

Then he remembered Vincent. Whirling around, he dropped the Venus Gospel to the side as he waded into the underbrush, unmindful of the thorns and stickers that snagged his arms, chest and face. He then saw with his own eyes that his imagination had not been too far off. Vincent looked terrible: paler than normal, shaky and for all outward appearances disoriented. “God!” Cid gasped and crouched down next to Vincent. Carefully, he eased the fallen ex-Turk into his arms and gently brushed the long black hair away from the delicate face. “Aw honey, look at'cha! Ya look like shit!” he exclaimed roughly. “Where's it hurt?” 

Cid, like always, at his side just when he was at his lowest. Vincent shook his head. "Fine, it's fine." He just had to sweat it out. Maybe bleed it out. "Don't...use materia. I tried." He was so tired, and he couldn't even tell if he still hurt. His eyes didn't want to open, and that suited Vincent just fine. If there was anything Vincent could count on about the pilot aside from useless phone calls and reckless flights to the middle of nowhere for vague reasons, it was that Cid would take care of him.

Well, that didn't make sense. Cid frowned. “Ya used materia? And it didn't work?” He asked stupidly. Cid frowned. He was beginning to sound like Vincent. “That don't make a lick o' sense. And it ain't fine, ya big dummy, you c'n hardly move!” He shifted Vincent more to one arm and began shuffling the ground cover around until he made a kind of nest. A Vincent nest, he thought fondly before laying the gunman back down. “All right, where ya hit? Lemme take a look.” He began prodding gently at Vincent's extremities.

Normally, Vincent would have relocated himself quite far away by now, removed Cid's hands, and taken his flight. The pilot's attention made him uncomfortable, particularly when it was laced with so much sincere concern. As it was, he could barely drum up the energy to respond to Cid. "Try looking where the blood is," he muttered, coughing. His throat was sore, and what could that possibly have to do with being stabbed by a fish? Vincent couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt symptoms like these, petty discomforts that had ceased to bother him or even register with his body. They bothered him now, mostly by way of making it impossible to do what he needed to do. 

And how hadn't he hit his limit and been taken over? He'd fought long and hard here, and the extra damage being done to his body internally now should have pushed him out and brought forth the Galian Beast instead. There was nothing, no response from any of the forces that would usually be vying for freedom, and that was possibly the most frustrating and disturbing part of all, the fact that he was reaching now for what he should hate. The familiar pain of a shift would have been preferable to this uncertainty, and would have cast out any afflictions he'd been suffering. Instead, he had nothing but his own weak and tired body, a cloudy mind, and an overeager pilot with no sense of boundaries.

Cid snorted. “Y' wear black, dummy, blood ain't exactly easy to see,” he grumbled irritably. Vincent should take better care of himself, he thought, but wisely kept his opinion to himself. It was true, blood wasn't easy to see on the torn black leather, but it would take someone less perceptive than Vincent not to notice the tears in the leather. 

Cid quickly located the rip that appeared to be the worst and tried to get a look at the flesh underneath, but the rend was too narrow to reveal anything useful. “Well,” he huffed, “I can't exactly see the problem, so off with your pants, Vince.” He reached for Vincent's belts and began unbuckling the them.

Right, no problem. For all the good it would do him. Vincent didn't bother to resist, but he wasn't very helpful, either. He lifted his hips for just the second or two that it took to get his pants past them, and then went back to lying still. It was obvious very soon after where the wound was, because it was a nasty, angry red, still smeared with blood all around though no longer bleeding.

Vincent wondered exactly what Cid planned to do about it now that he'd seen it. There really wasn't much to be done, if materia didn't help. The wound covered a large area and was hot and sore all over. "Must be poison," he gasped, the feeling of the leather sliding and pulling against his skin making him hiss in pain. "Materia sealed it in."

_Well, hell_ , Cid thought when he got a good look at the angry-looking wound on Vincent's outer thigh. When he pressed his fingers gently to the ragged lip of the wound, he was shocked at just how hot the skin was to the touch. “What kind o' materia did ya use?” He asked. “Did ya confuse poison materia with restore materia again?” Cid's tone was light, but his gaze was fierce and focused. 

Carefully, Cid stretched Vincent's leg out more and rolled the gunman slightly on his side. Silently he cursed his inattention to medical training when he was a cadet with ShinRa. 

Vincent pointed at his gun where it lay to his other side. He only had what was there, and he didn't carry poison. Vincent wasn't sure at all what Cid thought he was going to do about any of it, but he let the other man position his body as he wanted. There wasn't much else Vincent could do.

"Water?" Vincent croaked, throat too dry already to say much more.

Cid blinked, then seemed to snap out of it. “Right! Right! Just, hold on a second, Vincent, I gotta go back t’ th’ _Highwind_ to get’cha some water all right? Got some other stuff there that’ll help too.” Carefully, Cid eased Vincent’s pants back up onto his hips. It wouldn’t do if Vincent had to move suddenly only to trip over pants that were around his knees. He was careful to keep the leather as far away from the wound as he could and winced along with Vincent when he couldn’t. “Just sit tight, honey, I’ll be right back.”

Cid patted Vincent’s shoulder awkwardly, then ran as fast as he could back to his airship after first arranging the underbrush around Vincent to keep the gunman hidden. He hit the deck of the _Highwind_ at a run, skidding to a stop in front of the entrance hatch and yanking the door open. Breathing heavily, he made his way to the cargo hold where he located an emergency pack. Cid shoved his arm through the loops on the bag, grabbed an extra container of water and bolted back out the door. He was at Vincent’s side once more before thirty minutes had passed.

Collapsing by Vincent’s side, Cid gasped, “I’m sorry it took me s’ long, Vincent.” Twisting off the cap to one of the bottles of water, he held it up to Vincent’s lips, careful to tip it just slowly enough so that Vincent wouldn’t choke. 

Vincent could hardly lift his head for the water, and when he drank it, it didn't quench his thirst so much as it did drive home just how dry and hot his throat felt. He pushed himself up to lean his head and shoulders against the nearest thing, which happened to be Cid, and reached up with one hand to make sure Cid wouldn't take away the water bottle. Only when it was halfway gone did he stop drinking in order to take a deep, shuddering breath. "Thank you," he croaked, only just aware enough to register that Cid had obviously gone a long way to get the water for him. "Have some."

"Nope, I'm good," Cid said. "'Sides I think y' need it a little bit more'n me, honey." He allowed himself to enjoy being Vincent's backrest for just a moment before gently easing out from behind his friend and propping him up on a small pile of debris. Once Vincent was settled in such a way that the gunman wouldn't fall over, Cid placed the bottle of water into Vincent's gloved hand. "You take as much as ya need 'n don't worry 'bout me. Now let's get another look at'cha." Carefully, Cid eased the gunman's leather pants back down his thighs, blue eyes going immediately to the ugly wound once again. It had gotten worse since the first time he'd seen it, and not much time had elapsed. This worried Cid. It looked as though it were swelling, the flesh around the semi-healed wound turning purple and festering. 

"Say Vince? What were ya fightin'? This looks pretty nasty," Cid asked conversationally while he worked in an attempt to keep Vincent awake. He leaned over and rummaged in his pack for a moment before returning to Vincent's wound, knife in hand. He would have to lance the wound and let it drain. He couldn't believe that Vincent would attempt to use Restore materia on a wound that quite obviously still had poison in it. "Since we're on th' subject, why didn't one of yer boys bail ya out here?" With a deft flick of his wrist, Cid opened one of the red-purple swollen areas and winced when the smell of necrosis hit him. He repeated the motion on the other swollen part of the wound and was relieved to see the slightly green-yellow pus come oozing out. "There, that'll help ya," he grunted before getting up and retrieving the Venus Gospel from where he had dropped her when he first found Vincent. Upon examination of the weapon, he was glad to see that he had a mastered Heal materia equipped.

Returning to Vincent's side with the weapon, Cid crouched down and cast the Esuna spell that would remove the last of the poison from Vincent's body. 

Of course it was just poison. Nice, normal poison that drained from his body easily with the right combination of treatment. It had just been so very long since he'd been bothered by something so simple that he'd forgotten the way it felt and panicked. Usually he wore something to prevent such ailments, but he'd gone and given away his gold ribbon to Marlene to end her otherwise ceaseless whining. She was all right, as far as children went, but they were all much better when they were silent and happy. Just like Cid.

"Something new," he said in response to the first question, "and I don't know." That was the best answer he could give to the second. "I think there was," he started, then paused to drink deeply from the bottle of water, "mako in the poison. It always either represses them or sends them rampaging. I can never predict which it will be. Thank you," he added, and just that simple expression of gratitude would have to cover all Cid had done for him today. He'd let the man bask in his usefulness for a few minutes longer before suggesting that Cid go back to whatever he'd been doing. 

Cid grinned and sat back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Uh, yer welcome," he said, "but ya don't need t'thank me. Who else is gonna take care of ya?" A moment of awkward silence passed between them before Cid cleared his throat and bent back over the pack. "And don't say "you", 'cause we c'n all see how well _that's_ workin' for ya." he grumbled, fishing out a scrap of clean cloth and secretly pleased that he at least got a 'thank you' out of Vincent. 

Next, Cid pulled out a small bottle of disinfectant wash and poured the contents first onto the rag then the rest over Vincent's thigh. "Somethin' new, huh?" He pondered as he began to wipe the discharged puss off of Vincent's skin, momentarily becoming entranced by the smooth white skin and lean muscle. "I wonder if-" He licked his lips and swallowed as he left the rag where it rested and placed his palm on the inside of Vincent's thigh. Cid jerked then, snapping back to the present situation. He flushed a little. "If it has somethin' t'do with all that mako that was released when the lifestream went all screwy." He resumed washing until the skin was free of contamination. "Would have t'be, huh," he answered himself then cast Cure 3 to close up the wound completely and restore Vincent's strength. It had been a while since he had used such strong magic and it made him dizzy for a moment. Cid sat down heavily and chuckled. "Whooee! Been a while!" he said cheerfully. 

Vincent jumped when Cid did, expecting something to be poised to attack. It seemed as if everything had just been one of the random things Cid frequently did, because there was nothing around them and Cid looked faintly embarrassed. He didn't bother to comment at all about taking care of himself, because he'd done quite well until today, and Cid ought to know that. Probably did know it, even, and was just trying to get a reaction.

Or maybe not, considering that the pilot had already moved on to a different topic. Sometimes he made Vincent's head spin. "Well, at least I'm staying active," he said, raising an eyebrow at Cid as the man thumped down beside him. "I thought you'd have finally taken your own advice and gone traveling or something." Vincent wasn't entirely stupid. He'd heard, in those mentions of trekking across the continent, the desire for Vincent to join Cid wherever he went. Vincent wasn't quite sure he could handle anything like that, and he wasn't quite sure, either, that Cid was cut out for being anything but a homebody. There was a lot that Vincent didn't know about Cid, and sometimes it made him almost regretful. He seemed like he might have been a very interesting man, given the right opportunities. As it stood, he was at least a great man, that was better than Vincent could say for himself.

Cid shrugged a shoulder. "I did a little. Found m' new airship at one 'o Barret's digs 'n just got 'er home when Shera started t' get sick," he said, propping an arm on an upraised knee. He sniffed loudly and glanced away from Vincent. "Stayed at home after that, took care 'o Sher an' worked on the airship." Cid sighed. "It's just, well, it's not th' same, ya know? Without everyone-" He looked down at his lap, "-without a purpose." _Without you_ , Cid thought. He fell silent then, caught in a web of memories and forbidden desires. Round and round he went until, with a crack of his back, he shook it off. "Aw hell, Vince! Now ya got me actin' like you!" Cid looked at his friend and grinned lopsidedly. "So, uh, leg aside, y' look good!" 

"I look the same," Vincent said drily. "As do you." Probably Cid would take that as a compliment, and it might as well have been one. He shifted, feeling a little better, until he was sitting up almost straight. He looked closer and saw that it wasn't actually quite true. Cid's skin, while still tanned, didn't have the near golden radiance it had held when they'd been traveling. There were more wrinkles on his face when he grinned and dark circles under his eyes. Those both spoke of the way he must have worried so much over Shera. The two of them were lucky to have each other. 

Cid chuckled. "Right," He reached out and patted Vincent firmly on the shoulder. "Of course we do." Taking a deep breath, Cid climbed to his feet with a grunt. "I'll set up a tent, y' just take it easy and uh-" He let his eyes drift back to Vincent's bare thighs. "As much as I love th' view, y' might wanna pull up yer pants." He winked at his friend before ducking out of the underbrush, shouldering the pack and Venus Gospel as he did to begin scouting for a suitable clearing. 

Taking it easy was about all Vincent could do. That and pulling up his pants, though it took a little more effort than he really wanted to exert. After some rest, he would have to do a patch job on the pants until he could afford new ones. A tent would be better than where he'd been sleeping the past several weeks, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep with another person so close after so much solitude. If the poison was good for nothing else, it was making him lethargic and exhausted. He was at least on his feet by the time Cid returned, if a little wobbly and forced to lean against a tree for support. 

While Vincent worked on getting himself upright, Cid set about putting up the tent. He could just as easily help Vincent back to the _Highwind_ , where he could recover more quickly, but Cid couldn't lie. He didn't _want_ to go back to the _Highwind_. The _Highwind_ meant going back and going back meant more aimless solitude. Muscles straining, he drove the stakes into the ground and, with a grin on his face, he strung the canvas. It was almost like the old days, days that were only a short couple of years old. Finally the tent was up and Cid wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of an arm as he made his way back to a wobbly Vincent. His grin widened when he saw his friend. "Look at you!" he said jovially, "holdin' up a tree all by yerself!" He held out a hand toward Vincent. "C'mon, I got the tent ready." 

"Maybe I am holding up the tree," Vincent said, "in which case I don't need help walking." He tried to take a step forward, but his leg buckled and threatened to give out in earnest if he continued putting weight on it. He grabbed Cid's wrist then, accepting this minor defeat with no small degree of annoyance. Rather than just let Cid lead him, Vincent arranged them in a way that let him distribute his weight a little more comfortably. "You'll have to go back for Cerberus," he said, missing its heft against him but unwilling to correct his course to retrieve it. "It was just beside me where you found me." 

"Sure thing, Vince," Cid chuckled, patting Vincent's hand where it gripped his wrist. He grinned as he walked, letting his friend set the pace and pretend to lead. After all, Vincent _did_ have _some_ pride. Cid could certainly appreciate that. It was a short walk to the tent and Cid silently preened the whole way there. Ducking down, he helped Vincent into the tent and got him settled comfortably before slipping back out and heading to the thicket where he had found the gunman. Cerberus was easy to see, the massive revolver laying on a pile of sticks and dead leaves. Carefully, Cid picked the weapon up and examined it thoughtfully. It wasn't the same weapon Vincent had had when they had been chasing Sephiroth and he wondered what had happened to Vincent's rifle. "Hey Vincent?" Cid asked, pushing aside the entrance flap of the tent and ducking inside. "Where did ya find Cerberus, anyway?" He sat down with a grunt and a thump. "An' what happened t' yer rifle? What's-its-name? Death Penalty?" He handed Cerberus to the gunman. 

"Death Penalty isn't really designed for traveling the way I do. It's stashed away in...a safe place. Cerberus I picked up for a good price at a flea market in the southern end of Corel." He grinned, taking the weapon and checking it over before placing it beside him. "Never let it be said that I can't haggle with toothless old men." It was almost nice to be in Cid's presence again, but Vincent didn't plan on telling Cid that exactly. 

"Ah, I see," Cid said, grinning goodnaturedly, "don't trust me with where ya stash yer goods, eh?" He chuckled and leaned back on his arms, crossing his booted ankles out in front of him. "But I gotta say though, I can't really see ya haggling fer much o' anythin', what with yer way with folks. So, ya heard from anyone else then?" 

"Sometimes. Reeve and Yuffie call often, but you're the only one who calls just to talk to me," Vincent answered before he could stop himself. "Certainly none of the others have ever flown to my aid." He was nearly tempted to thank Cid again, but he nodded once instead. Highwind would know what it meant. Vincent had never engaged much in idle conversation, but there was very little else he felt capable of doing at the moment. "Have you stayed much in touch with them, then? I imagine they think of you first when there's something that needs doing." For Vincent, it got tiresome to have people asking for favors all the time, but Cid seemed to thrive on helping others. 

"Nah, not really," Cid said, bringing a large hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Mostly just Barret when 'e needs some equipment moved. Son-of-a-bitch shot up th' roof o' my workship not too long ago! Heard once from Tif when she lost yer number, but other'n that s' like everyone jus' up 'n dropped off th' face o' th' planet." He shrugged. "S' just as well really. I don't much care f' pointless chit-chat so I call you." Cid grinned cheekily at Vincent and winked. He didn't like to admit to himself just how much the lack of contact hurt his feelings. When he had been preparing for the launch of Rocket #26 he had thrived on solitude, chasing off his crew when they got too annoying, but now, having been such an integral part of a team doing such vital work, it just made him feel old and forgotten. Wanting to stop that train of thought from getting out of control, he reached over and poked Vincent in the shoulder. "They'd a' come t' ya if ya called 'em, y'know. S'what's good 'bout friends, Vince, we're always here if ya need us." 

"Right," Vincent said, creaky gears slowly beginning to turn in his head. Cid loved pointless chit-chat. The man excelled at it. And what was more pointless than talking to someone who wouldn't answer? Why did they all call him when Cid was so eager to help? Unless he was only eager to help Vincent. No, that couldn't be true. The pilot was too good a man for that. He wondered why their friends would seek his company when Cid's was so readily available, and the only answer he could find was that Cid was sometimes too much to handle. "Maybe I should give you this, then," he said, tossing his phone toward Cid. "I'll take yours instead. I wonder how long it would take them to notice the switch." 

Cid caught the phone easily and laughed heartily. "Not very damn long I'll tell ya that." He said with a wink. "Knowin' th' girls, they'd prob'ly think we'd moved in together, 'n d'you _really_ wanna deal with Yuffie, Vince, when she got that idea 'n ran with it?" God knew _he'd_ thought about it, probably more times than could be considered healthy, certainly more times than would have comfortably left them defined as just friends. He flipped Vincent's phone open and started idly punching buttons in an attempt to keep his hands busy. "They're prob'ly just worried about'cha Vince. You're too reclusive 'n given how we'd found ya, they're prob'ly worried... that..." Cid trailed off as he came across all of Vincent's saved messages. Messages that were all from him clear back to the time that he'd gotten the phone. He blinked and frowned as he scrolled down the list of time stamps then looked up at Vincent. "Y' saved all 'o my messages?" He asked. "Why?" He wanted to be thrilled by this new bit of information, but in actuality he was unnerved. For outward appearances, Vincent seemed _incapable_ of feeling anything for anyone, the ability burned out of him years ago by cruelty and betrayal. Yet, he had saved all of Cid's messages. Could it be possible that Vincent actually _felt_ something for him after all? Cid almost didn't dare to hope. He cleared his throat. "Y'know, if ya wanted t' hear m' voice s' bad ya could've called." He tossed the phone back at his friend. 

Vincent caught the device even while looking away. "I had thought perhaps you kept calling even though I didn't answer because it was a way for you to talk without having to listen to anyone else. As for keeping them...like I said, you're the only one who calls without wanting something in return." It was nice sometimes to pretend that Cid really had just wanted to have a conversation with him, but that wasn't the kind of thing a person could say. Cid would have to figure that out on his own. And if it had something more personal to do with Cid, well, that wasn't the kind of thing that was said, either. "Could be that I just enjoy the sound of a man's voice to help me to sleep at night," he said in order to divert Cid's attention, and yes, that was definitely something said in polite company. No one ever need wonder why Vincent seemed to have no sense of humor. When he tried, he said things like that. Clearing his throat, he elected not to bother correcting himself. Let Cid think what he would.

"Is that what'cha think, Vincent? That I just like t' hear m'self talk?" Cid asked, feeling a little hurt. Granted, he did enjoy talking and the less interruptions he had to deal with was always for the better, but he had feelings too. "If I'd'a thought m' calls bothered ya s' much, I wouldn't'a bothered ya." That was almost a blatant lie and Cid felt embarrassed to have said it, but he hadn't anticipated what Vincent said to have hurt quite so much. Cid pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips and lit it. "S' damn me for just wantin' t' have a conversation with m' friend." He peered at the gunman through the hovering cigarette smoke. "We are friends, ain't we Vince?" 

"If they bothered me," Vincent answered simply, "would I have kept the messages?" He wasn't sure why Cid felt the need to smoke inside their tent, but at least he would probably have enough sense not to burn it down. He was silent a long moment, sensing that he'd caused Cid some kind of disquiet. He could fix it with honesty, but what might it cost him? "If I call you, Cid, or if I answer your calls, then I can't replay them later. And if I call you, you might come running the way you did today. There are some places you shouldn't go," he said, thinking of the isolated but plague-ridden village that had housed him for several days the month before, the vast endless deserts that he could safely cross on his own but that even a man as strong as Cid should avoid at all costs. "So I keep them, because sometimes in places like those I think it would be better with a friend there."

Cid just grunted. Why did Vincent keep _his_ messages, but not any of the others'? In the end he figured it wasn't worth expending so much energy trying to understand. Vincent was Vincent, and wasn't that one of the reasons he liked the gunman so much? Vincent had his own logic. “Well I'm- I'm flattered that ya kept m' messages, Vincent. I think it's more'n I c'd say for th' others.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, uh, I miss yer comp'ny though. Would it hurt'cha t' come 'n visit once in a while?” 

Vincent was fresh out of things to say after that. There was no point in making excuses, and the truth of it was that it just hadn't crossed his mind to visit. Cid probably wouldn't like that answer, and Vincent had been taught that a man with nothing useful to say should just keep his mouth shut. That Cid missed him in particular rang as truth as well, though Vincent couldn't say he understood why. He could just as easily be overlooked as absent when he was in a place, so what company was there to miss? "We'll see, Cid," he said simply, turning away to face the wall of the tent. 

“Yeah, I guess we will,” Cid muttered, knowing full well that that was the nice way of Vincent telling him to keep dreaming. A long time passed where there was nothing but silence between them, a silence in which Cid grew more and more uncomfortable. Finally he broke that silence by blurting, “I'm thinkin' 'bout askin' Shera t' marry me, Vincent.” 

Vincent made a startled sound, thinking of how adamantly against that idea Cid had once been. Then again, that had been a very long time ago. Cid and Shera had both changed very much since then. "I see," Vincent said quietly. "Do you think you'll be happy?" There was something fundamentally wrong about Cid being tied down, and as far as Vincent's understanding of marriage went, that would be precisely what happened. "Will she let you fly as you want and do all the reckless things you do?"*

“She won't be able t' stop me, 'n she knows it,” Cid sighed then managed a weak chuckle. “She's been with me s' long 'n she save m' life, I figure I owe it to 'er.” He shrugged and took a drag on his cigarette. “It don't matter if I'm happy. She- she's a good woman 'n she deserves someone who'll stay by 'er side. I wouldn't leave 'er when she had th' stigma, s' who better'n me, right?” 

"If you marry her because you think you owe it to her, then she'll never be happy, Cid. Especially if she knows it makes you unhappy." He didn't know Shera very well, but knew about unhappiness, and he knew about trying to mix love with duty. "She deserves someone who stays by her side because of who she is, not because you owe her a life-debt." It wasn't even his problem or his business, and he should just leave it alone, but the idea of Cid condemning himself to something that would leave him unhappy troubled Vincent deeply. "It matters if you're unhappy. To your friends."

Cid rubbed his face with his free hand. “No, Vince, it don't matter t' everyone. They don' care any more'n you do, 'n I do care 'bout Shera. I know I ain't gonna make a very good husband what with all th' yellin' I tend t' do, but I c'n give 'er what she needs 'n I'll be faithful 'n take care of 'er. That's more'n a lotta guys'll do. Hell, y' should 'a seen everyone when she had th' stigma!” He said angrily. “No one'd come near 'er 'n it made me s' damn angry...” he trailed off into a brooding silence. “'Sides,” he mumbled, “I can't have what I want, s' it's about time I did m' duty. Took one f' the team as it were.” 

Those were terrible reasons. Vincent wasn't sure how else he could say that. "Cid..." he sighed. Part of this was his fault, probably, for not being there when Shera was sick, not being there for Cid when things had looked bad. Cid had been there for him, even today over something so petty. "What is it that you want that's so unreachable that you have to make at least two people unhappy?"*

Cid shook his head stubbornly. He knew better than to bring up the subject of so many illicit and inappropriate thoughts. He had worked too hard to win Vincent's trust to ruin it now with foolish words. Even _he_ knew better than that. “Vincent, ya wouldn't understand, all right?” He scowled darkly at his own weakness. “Why 'r ya s' bothered by this, anyway? S'not yer problem.” 

"It is my problem. Didn't you just finish saying that we're friends? Cid... you won't call me anymore," he said quietly. "And if you do, you'll only sound sad. You won't have stories about the places you've been and the things you've done. You won't be yourself anymore, if you do this. And the man Shera cares for is you, as you are. I don't know how she thinks of you, but you said yourself she's a good woman. She won't want this for you." Maybe Shera would reject him anyway. It was a cruel thing to hope, but Vincent couldn't stop himself.

All at once Cid was tired, worn out and regretting having ever mentioned it. He should have just married Shera and sprung it on everyone whenever they met again, if they ever did. “'N' when did you b'come an expert on women, Vince?” His only hope now was to change the subject somehow. “Particularly Shera? Knowin' 'er s' well, one might think you 'n her been talkin' or somethin'!” 

"It's not Shera I know well, Cid," Vincent sighed. He slid from his typical sitting position, lower and lower until he was lying on his side facing the wall of the tent. 

"Right," Cid grumbled, scowling. He brooded for a while in silence before he muttered, "Y'just rest 'n' get yer strength back, I'm gonna go 'n' find some food 'r somethin'." Venus Gospel firmly in hand, Cid slipped out of the tent and began to wander in the forest. He had probably missed a golden opportunity to act upon his frustration and Vincent probably would have let him do it, but his respect for their mutual trust and friendship made him lock his feelings down and retreat. "Stubborn son-of-a-bitch," he muttered, "y'don't know ev'rything. S'not like ya have th' greatest track record with women yerself!" He tromped further away, not really paying attention to where he was going. "I'm gonna marry Shera. Y'just see if I don't! 'S th' right thing t'do dammit!" Maybe if he had responsibilities it would take his mind off of the awful ache in his chest when he thought of Vincent, which was most of the time lately in some way, shape or form. 

\----

Cid was probably away sulking. It seemed a normal enough thing for him to do...for a while. Vincent slept deeply for an hour or two, as long as he ever slept at once, and still there was no sign of Cid when he woke. That was unusual. Maybe he'd gone foraging or gone back to the _Highwind_ and left him. Neither sounded like something Cid would do without warning. Vincent's leg felt just fine now. When he pushed away his pants to check the wrappings on it, they were clean and the skin beneath was no longer an intensely unhealthy color, just red and irritated, starting to heal. It would be fine to put weight on it, then, to go in search of Cid. 

He had to wander only a few minutes before his ears picked up the sound of a low voice and heavy footsteps; only Cid walked more loudly than he grumbled. As he started to approach, Vincent wondered what he even planned to say. That he was fine and that Cid should leave? That he'd like to go back to the ship with Cid? That he shouldn't have spoken out of turn and that it was Cid's choice what he did? That last might go over well with the pilot's ego, at least. "Cid?"*

The unexpected sound of Vincent's voice stopped the pilot dead in his tracks. “Vincent!” Cid exclaimed, startled. “What're ya doin' up, honey?” He hurried over to Vincent's side, dropped Venus Gospel -something he never did intentionally- and fell to his knees. “Y' shouldn't be movin' around s' soon! Are ya all right?” He began to poke and prod gently at Vincent's injured thigh as all thought for himself, and for what came out of his mouth, were pushed aside. 

"I'm trying to get attacked again," Vincent said, pursing his lips. "What do you think?" He couldn't stay miffed in the least, though, not with Cid so obviously concerned for him. Sighing, Vincent rested a hand on top of Cid's head. "Cid," he said, because something was starting to make sense even if it didn't make sense. "What are you running from?" he asked quietly. "The man I admire so much is more likely to run toward things." 

“Huh?” Cid asked, confused. He stopped his investigation of Vincent's leg and looked up at his friend, blinking in puzzlement. “I ain't runnin' from anythin'! Why're ya sayin' that?”

"I may not be the most perceptive man in the universe," Vincent answered, "but you're kind of an open book, Cid." The book just happened to be written in a different language. "Something's bothering you." He had no idea what it was, not really, but he felt that it involved him somehow. "If you're lucky enough to know what you want, you should reach for it. You might not get many chances."

Cid's eyes widened and he crab-walked backward to stagger to his feet. He shook his head vigorously before a sad look passed briefly over his rugged features. The second time he shook his head, he did so more slowly. “Vince,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There's some things a man don't get t' have no matter how bad 'e wants 'em. They just ain't meant t' be, ya understand?” 

Oh, he understood. How could Cid think he didn't? "It's hard not to wonder what it is that you want so badly," he murmured, noting the expression on Cid's face and understanding that, too. "If you have to run, Cid," Vincent said finally, "then run with me."

For several heartbeats, a look of open, naked longing crossed Cid's face before reality pulled his expression into a rictus of pain. “Would that I could, Vince,” he said hoarsely and turned away, his heavy shoulders slumping in defeat. “But I can't, 'cause- 'cause it's one 'o them things I can't have.” Oh how close he had come to blurting the truth and destroying something so fragile. 

"What is?" Vincent asked, confused. Cid really made very little sense sometimes. He'd looked so much like he would agree, and then he'd turned away like Vincent had slapped him. His unprotected hand found one of Cid's shoulders. Such a proud man looking so low was wrong in so many ways, and had Vincent been the one to put him there? 

As soon as he felt the warm, solid weight of Vincent's hand on his shoulder, Cid gave a massive shudder. The knot in his stomach seemed to twist even tighter and it felt like a thousand needles were stabbing into his heart. When had he been reduced to this? A bundle of frayed nerves and ragged, base emotions? When had Vincent begun to have such an effect on him? They were friends, comrades, fellow soldiers in a war dictated by powers far beyond them. They were simply two men struggling to exist and fight their own battles. They didn't need _him_ making things more complicated. Chest tight, Cid struggled to take deep breaths. “Please don't, Vincent. Don't do that," he whispered, knowing the gunman's keen ears would easily hear him. 

It was him. In some way, shape, or form, Vincent was the one hurting Cid. "I'll go, then," he said just as quietly. "If that's what you want."

Cid ground his teeth together. He wanted to shout, curse or hit something hard. Instead he just stayed put, fists clenched tightly by his side as fine tremors radiated throughout his back, chest, stomach and arms. “I don't want'cha t'go, dammit,” he said raggedly. “I didn't come all this way t' let'cha just up 'n disappear.” He didn't want Vincent to go _ever_ , but that wasn't his call to make. All he could do was make use of the time he was given before even that was taken away from him. 

"Then why won't you come with me?" Vincent asked, more confused than ever before. Absurdly, he realized that he had made the offer for a very selfish reason. He would never have asked for that, probably, if Cid hadn't talked about marrying Shera. Just once, Vincent had wanted to be chosen above someone else. Even Cid wouldn't do that, it seemed, and it had been foolish to expect it anyway. Cid was shaking under his hand, but Vincent couldn't make himself let go. Cid might bolt if he did, and then there would be no answers at all, not even unsatisfactory ones. So many questions. Why would a man travel around the world at the slightest hint of trouble just for a day of getting a friend back on his feet? Why call so many times a day with no encouragement to do so? Why settle into an unwanted fate and refuse to acknowledge what he did want? Their answers together must make some final answer, but Vincent wasn't sure that he was ready for it. He was even less certain that Cid would be ready for it. "You came all the way out here for me."

“Vincent, I'd go anywhere fer you,” Cid said quietly, unable to keep it all in anymore. “I'd fight th' damn planet fer you with m' bare hands if I had to. M' heart's tellin' me t' go with ya, but my head's tellin' me I'm bein' foolish. That I'd be puttin' us in danger if I did, 'n I'm not willing t' lose what I'd fought s' long 'n hard t' win.” 

"What danger can't we face?" Vincent asked. They made the best team of their group, instinctively knowing just how to look out for each other. They had eliminated so many threats together, decimated hordes of foes. What was there for Cid to drag them into that they couldn't handle together? "Anything you've won that you could lose by following your heart isn't a real victory," he added. Someone had told him the same, long ago, and he still wasn't sure if he knew what it meant. It sounded like decent advice, anyway.

Cid hung his head and turned to face Vincent. His expression was haggard and for once, he showed his age. “Yeah, Vincent, there are some things you c'n lose by followin' yer heart. 'N what I won... it was a helluva victory. Shit, it was goddamned _gift_ , 'n' I don't think I c'n risk losin' it. Maybe it's somethin' we can face, but maybe it ain't. There's jus' too much at risk for me. I'm sorry, honey, but I can't run with ya.” Telling Vincent that was the hardest, most painful thing he had ever had to endure, because he wanted nothing else than to go with Vincent; chase him, lead him, walk by his side, it didn't matter so long as he was with his friend. 

Cid looked so tired, and he still hadn't answered any of Vincent's questions. He'd only rejected them and deflected them, and worn himself out in doing so. It must be that he was truly in love with Shera. Love was the only thing Vincent knew that could knock a man around so much. "I see." He didn't. He didn't see anything at all, not any more clearly than he ever had. "You would go anywhere for me, and you don't want me to leave, but you can't stay. It makes perfect sense," Vincent said flatly, dropping his hand but not turning away. "Do you know why I've run all this time, Cid?"*

Vincernt's response was like a slap to his face and it was all Cid could do to keep from flinching. Not trusting his voice, he could only shake his head. 

"I've been waiting for someone to chase me long enough to find me. All my life, you've been the only one willing to do that, except maybe the ShinRa. They abandoned and betrayed me. Will you now do the same, tell me that you can't trust me enough to help you and that you have duties to someone else before me? Why come here to tell me that instead of leaving it in one of your calls? Why call me at all? What aren't you saying, Cid?" 

There was pain there, with that revelation. Cid could see it even if Vincent hadn't intended him to. He shook his head slowly, never breaking eye contact with Vincent. “I ain't perfect Vince,” he said carefully, “I ain't much of a fighter, and I guess in th'end I ain't really much of a man, but if y' believe nothin' else, then believe that I'd sooner take a knife t' m' own throat than betray ya.” He reached out and dared to run the backs of his fingers over Vincent's smooth cheek. “Oh honey, can't'cha see?” He said softly, owing it to his friend to finally be honest after everything they had ever gone through together. “It's _you_ , Vince. It's always _been_ you, even when ya up 'n disappeared on us 'n no one could find ya.” Cid pulled his hand back before the contact could spook the gunman. He laughed shakily. “Couldn't sleep proper 'til Cloud finally got a hold 'o ya 'n let us know you were okay.” 

"Are you..." Vincent shook his head. The things Cid said still didn't make sense. Less sense now that he'd said the rest. "You're telling me that I'm the thing you want and can't have, even though I'm asking you to come with me," he said flatly, feeling so confused. 

Cid smiled wanly and took another small step back. “Yeah, Vince, that's what I'm tellin' ya.” He bent down to retrieve Venus Gospel. “Been fightin' with it ever since I realized it, but I ain't gonna win that particular fight, I know that now.” He smiled sadly to himself. “You're one o' them 'impossible dream' thingies.” 

"What is there to fight?" Vincent asked, still feeling as lost as ever. "How can I be impossible if I'm right here, asking you to come with me instead of marrying someone else?" Cid was the impossible one, that was the only thing that made sense.

Cid blinked at Vincent. “Are ya sayin', then, that'cha feel th' same way 'bout me?” Cid didn't think Vincent understood what he was saying. 

Oh. "I'm saying that there's no one else I would go with, and no one else who would come to me." He wondered if that would be enough. Maybe not, but then maybe Cid just had things wrapped up in his mind, and spending more time with Vincent would work things out for the both of them. "You didn't come all this way for you to disappear, either."

Ah. That left a cold spot in the center of Cid's chest, but maybe it was for the best. He should have known Vincent didn't feel the same way, how could he? Cid affected a grin didn't quite reach his eyes, and waggled a finger at Vincent. “Nah, I ain't gonna disappear! Got responsibilities at home ya know. 'Sides yer wrong. Everyone'd come runnin' if ya needed 'em!” 

"Why can't I be home?" Vincent whispered. "Cid."

Now it was Cid's turn to be horribly confused. Vincent had all but admitted that he didn't feel the same way, but now he did? Unless he didn't _know_ how he felt, which was a very real possibility given Vincent's history. Cid ran a hand over his face roughly. “Vincent, what're ya sayin'?” 

"I'm asking you to stay with me. You're saying that's what you want but can't have. If it's what you want and what I want, then I don't know what you're fighting." He didn't know how many other ways he could say exactly the same thing. Maybe saying wasn't enough. Cid might need showing to convince him, and Vincent didn't know what he could do about that. Nothing that wasn't dangerous, that much was certain. If Cid couldn't make himself risk what they had, whatever that was, then Vincent should probably leave it alone. He _couldn't_ , though, not when he was so close to understanding. "Stay, Cid," he said quietly, "or forget me. I can't see you when you're with her because I don't have to see." Vincent reached out, mimicking Cid's gesture from before as he ran the backs of gloved fingers over the rough skin of Cid's cheek.

Cid shook his head. “Vincent, I could _never_ forget ya.” He caught Vincent's wrist gently, pausing a moment to enjoy the intimate touch before pulling it away from his face. He did not, however, let the wrist go. Cid stepped closer again, letting his eyes run over the delicate features of Vincent's face. “How can ya say such a thing?” he asked softly. 

That was an entirely different touch than the way Cid usually touched him. It wasn't a casual shoulder-bump or a comrade's assistance in battle. It was intentional and lingering, and even Vincent couldn't continue being oblivious to what that meant. "Then you'll stay," Vincent decided for him, sliding his wrist through Cid's grip to clasp their hands together. He looked down at where they held onto each other, feeling a dull sense of wonder. "If it means that I have to put down roots in Rocket Town beside you, I hope you can forgive a few stray limbs."

Cid felt completely shell-shocked. If the sky had turned red and meteor shown back up he would have been less surprised. He followed Vincent's gaze to their clasped hands before raising his gaze back up to meet Vincent's. Was this really happening? To Cid, it felt like some kind of surreal dream that he would wake from at any moment. Vincent's behavior was so different from what he was used to seeing that for a moment he thought that his friend might still be poisoned and that the poison was affecting his brain. One look into those incredible red eyes and the clarity he saw there allayed his fears. “Vince-” Cid started and for a minute he couldn't find any words. Keeping their hands together, afraid that if he let go the spell would be broken, Cid stepped up close to Vincent and carefully placed his rough hand once again upon Vincent's cheek. “You'd _do_ that fer me, Vincent?” he whispered, moved. 

Vincent didn't know what to do exactly. He hadn't been in a position like this in ages. Getting himself into it had been easy enough, and he had to have done and said the right things, because Cid looked so happy. But the way Cid was touching him was all but foreign, and the idea that he might break a promise to this man made his heart ache already. It was all for Cid, the way Vincent felt about everything. Cid had been the one to convince him along in the first place, the one to involve him in decisions and discussions, the one to stay in touch with him just because he wanted to. Vincent had no idea at all what Cid saw in him, but that wasn't for him to question if it was what Cid felt. And for Cid, Vincent felt...respect, kinship, admiration, sometimes awe and sometimes exasperation, but never derision, not the way he'd expected to feel for a small-town loudmouthed mechanic from ShinRa. "I would," Vincent said, waiting for the right words to find him, "fly around the world to patch up your wounds, too. We wouldn't have to go very far if we were in the same place." He turned his face toward the hand on his cheek, curious and oddly enthralled by the rough feel of the calloused palm against his skin. He'd suffered windburn and sunburn and scratches and bruises, but little had ever graced him with so much warmth. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed in and then out, slowly in case Cid was gone when he opened his eyes.

Cid watched Vincent's face carefully, then was hit with a very real, very frightening truth. He had to be so very careful with Vincent. The gunman most likely did not feel the same things that he did; the same heavy, overwhelming reaction every time he was close to the ex-Turk. Vincent had been horribly abused when he had been completely human, and from what Cid knew about Vincent's past, he had loved and had been betrayed. Cid didn't know the details, but he knew betrayal and the anger it left behind to fester. The last thing Vincent needed was someone chasing around behind him wanting more than he was willing to give. It might mean never realizing those deep, dark desires and living with an unseen pain for the rest of natural life, but Cid was pretty sure that he could live with that. Very gently, Cid ran the pad of his thumb under one of Vincent's matchless eyes, relishing the feel of the smooth, soft skin and taking note of the thick black lashes, grinning at the faint freckles he noticed for the first time. “Alright Vincent,” Cid said softly, “I reckon we c'n give 'er a go.” Cid had to grit his teeth to keep from pushing his luck. His gaze fell to Vincent's slightly parted lips and he licked his own before forcing himself to shut his eyes. It would be hell, but far more desirable than the alternative.


End file.
